


fucking stanley

by triangular



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: But whatever, F/M, THIS IS A THING, all you're getting is shit in return, and it's like...some time ago idk, history mystery, why do you people keep asking me to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangular/pseuds/triangular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fuck titles</p>
            </blockquote>





	fucking stanley

“You saw _what_?”

“It was a flash of light and there were these...these kids! They even looked vaguely familiar!”

“Stanley, my dear, all you've been doing since we came to this cold hick town is play the boy who called wolf! 'Oh, there's minotaurs on our lawn!' 'I didn't eat your pie, gnomes did it!'—and now little children appearing and disappearing in the night? Have you listened to yourself?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me! There _are_ strange things in this town, that's why we're here, so I can—ugh!”

The man let out an exasperated sigh and sunk into his seat at the table, quietly adding, “Would've been on my side if you didn't mess with that ray...”

Getting out of your own chair, you walked over behind him and gave his shoulders assuring rubs.

“Hun, it obviously means a lot to you, and I'm not going to believe it until I see it, but I _do_ support you. I just wish you'd tell me what you and that Fiddleford are always working on in the basement. There shouldn't be any secrets between us.”

“You know I can't tell you. Not until it's done.”

Silently, you dug your nails into his skin, letting him know that was the wrong answer.

He yelped and you removed your hands, impatiently moving them to your hips.

Stanley turned around in the chair, an arm draped over the back, and gave you a sheepish smile.

“But I...I love you!”

You rolled your eyes and bent in to give him a peck on the cheek.

“You sure don't know how to show it.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, genuinely shocked, “I took you to see Grease just the other day! Didn't you like that?”

“ _I_ dragged _you_ there, all you did was pay,” you reminded him, a smirk helplessly sprawling on your face, “Plus, you spent an entire hour afterward trying to figure out if you could make your own flying car.”

“Buh—and then we had a nice dinner!” He feebly tried.

“At a greasy diner. And, like I said, droning on like you always do—with your mouth full, mind you, about whatever strange things.”

“Is that...” His head sank, “Is that all I seem to you?”

“A horribly unromantic and work-obsessed nerd? Yes,” you laughed, lifting up his dimpled chin, “But that's what makes you special, loverboy.”

His eyes stared widely into yours and his cheeks tinged the slightest pink. “Honey, I—”

“Shh,” you cut him off, sliding a thumb over his lips, “Save the terms of endearment for Fiddleford.”

As he always would, he grew embarrassed by your teasing and flipped right back to the dining table covered in piles of coffee-stained papers.

“What...whatever. I'm getting back to work, lots to do.”

Grating out an irritated huff, you trudged back to your seat across from him and sipped from your drink, watching him obsessively flip between papers and frantically scrawling whatever nonsense—it was barely legible to you.

And, really, it wasn't as if it wasn't entertaining to watch, what with the way he so quickly becomes acutely focused, or the way he pushes up his glasses more often than he breathes, or even the way his mouth stirs and tightens with each racing thought.

So, yes, it was quite endearing.

But you weren't with the man to watch him like some hamster.

You had needs. Needs that he proved he was capable of fulfilling before he got that spark in his eyes and raced to this town with you, leaving the passion back in Jersey.

It wasn't as if you hadn't tried to drop him some hints before—you'd even once greeted him at the door only in your lingerie, for Christ's sake. But, of course, he had walked right past you.

He was impossible.

Sometimes you'd be lying alone in your bed while he spent another sleepless night downstairs, and you'd start to wonder if he loved his work more than you, whom he clearly decided to spend his life with, according to that cheap ring he presented you.

Funny thing about that was, he hadn't even noticed you'd left it on the bedside table that entire week.

You just desperately wanted his eyes to look up at you with the same twinkle they bore towards those papers.

True, you had your own secret that had been festering for a few months that would get even his attention, but...you still weren't sure you wanted to tell him.

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.

“It's a boy, you know.”

He hadn't batted an eye, let alone move them from the papers.

“That's nice.”

“...and I was thinking, Alexander is a nice name, isn't it?”

“Whatever you say, muffin.”

“Goddammit, Stanley!” You snapped, slamming a fist on the table.

He looked up, but only because some coffee splashed onto his schematics.

“What? What was that for?!”

“I'm pregnant, you idiot.”

Like that, his pen and his mouth fell.

“Wait—really? No joshing?! You're—oh, _no_ , you can't be!”

“Well, I am.”

“How...did this even happen?”

“I'm sure you don't need me to explain the birds and the bees to you.”

“No, I...I know that much! But _how?_ ”

You shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

He hid his face with his hands. “Ohh, no...I can't be a dad,” he managed to muffle out—you, of course, rolled your eyes. “How long have you been...?”

“Three months, maybe? And you never noticed.”

“I just...thought you were gaining weight! I didn't want to say anything!”

“God Stanley, you're real something,” you said more angrily than you intended.

“Well, what do you want me to do?! Christ!” He shouted back, his own hands hitting the table, a few sheets fluttering off on impact.

“Maybe stop spending so much fucking time with your precious work and be a husband for once?!”

An uncomfortable silence rang throughout the room.

You didn't intend to come off so strong and hostile, but hormones and mounting anger were nasty together.

Now that your outburst had passed, and seeing him quietly stare at the back of his hands, you began to feel a little bad.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped, I know you're always so stressed—”

“No, no,” he spoke up, “You're right. I've been a little—er, _very_ selfish lately. We haven't spent real time together in ages. And Stan's coming to live here, too, so—”

“ _Stan?_ As in your brother, Stanford?”

“I'm...guessing I haven't told you?”

“No, you haven't,” you growled between teeth, your anger beginning to return. “Gee, how are you going to smooth your way out of this one, _dear?_ ”

“Honestly,” he weakly chuckled, “I have no idea. Now that I think about it, I'm amazed you haven't left me yet.”

“That makes two of us,” you cheekily smiled back.

“I'm guessing I should start begging for your forgiveness, huh?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Okay, uh...” he paused in thought. “I don't know. How can I get you to forgive me?”

“Well...” you coyly smiled, reaching your foot under the table to nudge his, “It's been awfully _lonely_ at night for quite a long time.”

“Erm,” he awkwardly coughed, “Is that—is that so?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And so you want...?”

“Stanley, please, you're not twelve anymore.”

He grew flustered and scratched his neck. “I know, I know...”

His bashfulness was cute, but today, in all honesty, you just wanted to get laid.

You clicked your tongue and wordlessly stepped over to him and grabbed his wrist.

Giving your best bedroom eyes, you began leading him upstairs to your 'shared' room, him awkwardly bumbling behind you.

Once the door was open, you pulled him in so that your noses touched.

“Now, let's get to your long overdue apology,” you huskily cooed against him.

Pressing impatient lips against his, you hooked your arms around his back and continued to blindly pace back, further into the unlit room.

With a few too many steps, your calves collided with the bedframe and sent your back falling onto the mattress, taking Stanley down with you.

The two of you broke contact to gaze at each other in the buzzing silence, interrupted only by the sounds of soft breathing.

His eyes seemed to be filled with a newfound hunger, as if his sexual drive was suddenly reactivated.

With a wanton wink, he took his mouth back to yours, his tongue slipping inside.

With one hand propping him up, he used his other to explore your once-familiar body, his cold fingers electrifying, trailing up your thighs and under your gown, curving over your hips and stopping around your slightly enlarged stomach.

“God,” he barely managed to say, refusing to fully pull back his lips, “There really is something brewing there.”

“This isn't something I'd lie about just to get fucked,” you huffed back.

He let out a harsh chortle that begged to differ, but he wisely didn't say any more, resuming his ministrations.

Stanley's hand traversed up to your uncovered breasts. You could feel a smile curl against you when he felt the tenderness.

He pinched and teased your hardening tits, you let out a strangled moan, taking your face from his.

Only just starting to realize how badly you really missed and wanted this, you slipped fully out of the dress, pushing him to play with the rest of your body.

He seemed to get the idea and traced downwards, planting soft kisses in a trail from your lips to your neck to your breasts, which he stopped at to suckle, the sensation of his wet mouth on such an increasingly sensitive spot had you cry out.

Christ, you loved it when he used that thing for something other than talking.

The sound of your voice made him hitch a bit, undoubtedly increased in arousal.

Wanting to speed things up, he ditched the kissing and climbed straight down to your dampened panties.

He teasingly rubbed his thumb and, at your whimpering, slid the cheap material down your legs, spreading your thighs apart.

“I need to savor this,” he purred, leaning his head towards your bare region, “Before it gets ruined.”

You laughed at his stupid, flirty wink, but quickly crumbled into gasps and moans when he slid a tongue into your folds, going at it as if it were a piece of candy.

His animalistic lappings had your knees buckling; you would've locked him in with your legs wrapped around him, but they were too weak, he was too good.

Again, you boomed out a loud moan when his tongue swirled over your clit, and you could feel his heated breaths getting harsher.

His glasses must be so foggy, his pants so tight... “ _fuck_.”

He was too focused to hear your shaky voice, so you firmly repeated, “Fucking—fuck me, now.”

You heard a grunt as he removed himself, standing and too-eagerly unbuttoning his pants, pulling them and his boxers just low enough to release his twitching, fully-erect cock.

You bit your lip, any notion of patience disappearing.

He held his length and muttered to himself, “no need for a condom anymore,” before shifting himself so that his hot tip was barely touching your entrance.

You didn't know what he was waiting for, and you bitterly hissed, “ _Now_.”

Apparently that was it, because he then forced his way inside your slicked entrance.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, ecstatically ramming himself, his hands gripping your thighs too tightly, “Haven't felt like this in too long.”

You hoped that meant this was going to happen more often, because the way he was pounding you, God, it was driving you insane.

Somehow, you managed to prop yourself up with an arm and, with the other, pulled his face to yours, sloppily mashing your mouths together as his pumping became less rhythmic.

All of this was building up, he hadn't had release in so long, you knew he was already about to peak.

And you were right, in less than a few minutes he'd burst out a rumbling groan into your mouth, his cock pulsing and spilling inside you.

You tightened your hand on the back of his head to signal for him to keep going, your own orgasm soon following, a loud, shaky moan escaping your lips.

The two of you soon parted, and as he tucked himself back into his pants, you were slowly aware of how sweaty you'd become.

Not like it mattered, considering how great you felt with the afterglow washing over.

You slipped your own clothes back on and looked over to Stanley to say something, but noticed his attention was caught by something out the open window. The sunset, maybe, you figured.

But a glance at the side of his face showed he was back to his usual bashful demeanor, and something outside was embarrassing him.

“What's...?”

“Nothing!” He snapped awkwardly, “Nothing at all. Really.”

Unconvinced, you went up to his side and, much to his protests, looked out to the lot below.

There he was, that troublesome Stanford Pines, leaning on his motorcycle with that damn biker jacket on his back and cigarette between his fingers, giving a big shit-eating grin.

You opened your mouth but couldn't find the words to yell, so you began to storm off to go slap the smile off that jackass's face.

Stanley meekly followed after you, rambling this and that.

From outside you could hear a shout,

“NICE, BRO!”

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  ~~k sorry bye~~  
> 


End file.
